


ready

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bubble Bath, F/F, Fluff, Hand Feeding, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Joggers, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Scars, Self Care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:39:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: The joggers, as Hermione calls them, are baby pink, contrasting nicely with her dark skin. They have a drawstring at the top, but they aren’t cinched in, and they look relaxing and gentle and comfortable.“Ineedsome,” Lavender declares, still running her fingers over Hermione’s thigh. She doesn’t quite notice the blush on Hermione’s cheeks, but Parvati does, when she comes in behind her and hooks her chin over Lavender’s shoulder.“You may want to take your hand away before Hermione combusts,” Parvati observes.





	ready

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to all the mods for running such a lovely fest. Joggers are my creature comforts, so I'm projecting slightly here. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Warning: Lavender does think her scars are ugly, and has some trouble with them, so if some negative thoughts surrounding scars are difficult for you, please stay comfy and don't read. I just wasn't sure how to tag that.

Lavender’s scars span the width of her neck, down her chest and come to a stop above her right breast. She tells herself she doesn’t care about them, tells herself that they only make her stronger, show that she survived, but the truth of it is, she finds them ugly. There’s nothing pretty about raised skin and puckered lines and pain. There’s no beauty in it, and that’s how Lavender _lives_ ; she finds the beauty in life. 

Parvati doesn’t kiss them, doesn’t lay her hands on them, doesn’t even _mention_ them, as per Lavender’s request. It’s not about trust, Lavender insists, whenever Parvati looks vaguely hurt – an expression she quickly squashes whenever Lavender sees it. It’s not about trust, it’s about being ready. 

Parvati always accepts this, pressing a kiss to her jaw instead of her neck, telling her silently that she’ll be there when Lavender is ready, if that day ever comes. 

Eighth year creeps up on her. One moment she’s at home, writing letters to the friends she has left, laughing over Seamus’ crude drawings interspersed with Dean’s beautiful pictures down the margins of the letter, and the next she’s packing her belongings and boarding the train, her hand tightly clasped in Parvati’s. Padma kisses her sister’s forehead before she leaves to find her friend, and then it’s just them, alone.

Well, not alone. The train is packed, which takes Lavender by surprise. She thought that, with all the losses they had faced, it would be a lot emptier, but there are First Years here, children untouched by the horrors of war, sprinting up and down the narrow corridor, laughing and shouting and talking excitedly amongst each other. It eases something inside her, and her mouth quirks as she watches a freckly young boy shout in indignation as he’s shoved out of his compartment by his laughing friends. 

He catches sight of her watching and makes a gesture with his hands that she doesn’t quite understand, but is probably rude, and she smothers a giggle as he starts banging on the door. 

“C’mon,” Parvati says, squeezing her hand, her voice warm with laughter. “Let’s go and find somewhere to sit.”

They do eventually find somewhere with familiar faces, but it’s not exactly what Lavender had in mind. Hermione is the only one who looks up when they enter – Harry is fast asleep, curled up against Ron near the window, and Ron is frowning down at his shoulder like he’s not quite sure when he agreed to be a pillow. Lavender has to squash a laugh at that, as well – she’s finding everything funny today, and she knows it’s her nerves, but she can’t seem to stop. 

“You mind if we sit?” Parvati says, gesturing at the empty seats beside Hermione. “There’s not much room anywhere else.”

“Of course not,” Hermione says, shifting her coat and her bag to make room. It’s a little beaded bag, pretty, and Lavender has half a mind to ask her where she got it from, but the way Hermione grips the handles tightly tells her that she might not want to broach the subject. 

An awkward silence descends as they sit down, and Ron finally looks up, his eyes widening slightly as he takes them in. 

“Uh,” he says, and Lavender snorts delicately. 

“As articulate as ever, Ronald,” Hermione says fondly. 

“I was just surprised, that’s all. How’re you two?” He seems genuine enough, smiling a little awkwardly as he shifts to put an arm around Harry, pulling him closer. He does it almost absent-mindedly. 

They chat for a while, and eventually the conversation breaks off a little, chugging along in stops and starts. When they do arrive at Hogwarts, hours later, Lavender feels slightly more settled in herself. She takes Parvati’s hand again as they make their way to the carriages, and despite everything that's happened, the view of the castle takes her breath away. 

*

The days pass quite quickly, to her surprise. The eighth years have their own common room to avoid complications and over-crowding, as well as to promote House Unity. Hermione rooms with Lavender and Parvati, and she doesn’t say a word when they slip into each other’s beds in the middle of the night, for comfort. 

“It would be a bit hypocritical if she did,” Parvati tells her. “She spends most of her nights in with Ron and Harry. I think they even transfigured one of the beds to make it bigger.”

“Why didn’t we think of that?” Lavender pouts. 

“I quite like it like this.” Parvati draws her closer on the narrow bed, their legs tangling together, arms sliding around the curves of her waist. Lavender ducks her head under Parvati’s chin and sighs. 

“Do you think they’re _just_ sleeping together, the three of them?” Lavender asks curiously. 

“Oh, definitely,” Hermione says, from across the room, and Lavender shrieks, jerking slightly to the left in surprise. Parvati catches her before she can tumble off the bed, her expression openly shocked. They both sit up, hearts pounding, and draw back the curtains to find Hermione watching them in amusement. 

She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, a book in her lap and an expression of mischief on her face. It’s not something Lavender’s ever seen on Hermione before, and she abruptly wonders how much of the trouble caused by the Golden Trio was instigated by her. 

“We forgot you were here,” Parvati says breathlessly. 

“I figured,” Hermione says, still looking far too amused for her own good. It softens quickly, though, into something apologetic. “I’m sorry I startled you. But please, never talk about me doing more than just sleeping with the boys.”

She makes a delicately disgusted face, and Lavender laughs brightly, her shock fading. She sits up properly now, feeling some of that old childishness creep back into her and she waggles her eyebrows at Hermione. 

“Are you _sure_ nothing’s going on?”

Hermione blushes slightly, shaking her head with a small, wry smile. “There may have been a few moments, but no. Besides, they’re far too busy with each other to worry about me.”

Parvati openly gapes for a moment, and then she sweeps her hair up into a bun. Oh, Lavender knows that face, that face means business, and she grins gleefully in return. They’re both scrambling across the room in a heartbeat, squishing themselves onto Hermione’s bed and dislodging her book in the process. Hermione regards them warily. 

“Details,” Parvati demands. “Now.”

*

After that, it’s easy to talk to Hermione. She still spends most of her time in the library or off doing God-knows-what with Harry and Ron, but the evenings are for Parvati and Lavender. They spend them talking quietly about school and the war and the losses, and then laughing and gossiping about the Seventh year Quidditch Captain. Hermione isn’t really one for gossip, but she still joins in every now and again, and it’s more about the atmosphere than anything. She seems to enjoy herself, and that’s really the point. 

See, Lavender’s not always the smartest person in the room, but she’s observant. She likes knowing things, and she likes being the first to notice things, and what she’s noticed about Hermione is that she’s stiff. Stiff and in pain and tense, like she doesn’t know how to relax now that the war’s over. She’s always the first to react when someone enters the room, and she sits like she’s waiting for an attack. Her wand never leaves her side. 

Lavender knows it’s going to take more than a few evenings to fix any of that, but damn if she isn’t going to try. Parvati’s with her on this. Everything’s changed since the war, and they’re both resolved to try and fix some of that change. 

“We should do our nails,” Lavender says firmly, one evening when they’re all sat on Hermione’s bed. Parvati looks up from the textbook she’s studying and a sharp grin slides across her face. 

Hermione stares at them dubiously. “I’ve never done my nails before.” 

Lavender can’t stop the surprise from showing on her face. “Not even when you got dressed up for the Yule Ball?”

“I cleaned them up a little bit, but I’ve never painted them, or filed them, or anything like that. I’ve never seen what the fuss was about.”

“There doesn’t have to be a reason,” Parvati says, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s just fun, and sometimes it’s to make you feel a bit better, and sometimes it’s just to take your mind off things. It’s the same with make-up, and hair-care. I do it because I want to do it.”

Hermione closes her book thoughtfully, and surveys her nails. They’re a little ragged from being bitten, but otherwise clean. 

“I can definitely work with that,” Lavender says, wiggling her wand. Hermione looks startled. 

"There are spells for this sort of thing?”

“Of course,” Parvati says. “Sometimes we like to do it the Muggle way, take our time, but there’s some spells you can do to help the process along. Here, look.”

She takes Hermione’s hand and smooths her fingers over the palm, digging into the smooth skin. Smooth, but not soft, because it hasn’t been that long since Hermione was on the run, and her hands are a little callused, a little worn. 

“You’re not going to try and read my palm, are you?”

Lavender snorts. “I’m pretty sure the whole world knows how you feel about Divination, Hermione. It’s just a massage.”

She takes the other hand and starts working on that, and Hermione eventually relaxes back against the headboard, although she looks a little uncertain, like she’s not sure what’s coming next.

“Okay, so the first spell is for the skin, but mostly the skin on your hands, to make it softer,” Parvati says. “You have to use it a couple times before it really works properly, but you can see the effects straight away. You mind if I cast it?”

Hermione tips her head to the side, and then nods, obviously listening intently as Parvati murmurs a few words and waves her wand. The skin under Lavender’s hands immediately softens and plumps up, and the faint scent of rose-water fills the air. 

“And the rest are for your nails,” Lavender chirps, enjoying Hermione’s startled look. “This one’s a strengthening spell, and there’s one for your cuticles, and there’s some for actually painting your nails."

“But we prefer to do that the fun way,” Parvati says. “Lav?”

Lavender summons her make-up bag from her trunk, and it floats across the room, spilling the contents onto the bedspread. Little bottles roll across the soft fabric, and Hermione plucks one up – vivid red – and holds it up to the light, examining it. She leans forward with an eager smile. 

“What else can you teach me?”

*

“I actually know a lot about hair-care,” Hermione says, gesturing at her own head, where her hair is pulled tightly back into a bun. “And you can’t brush my hair with that unless it’s wet, or I use spells.”

Lavender glances at the few wisps of hair falling from Hermione’s bun, and concedes with a slight pout, putting down the brush. It wouldn’t be fair to call Hermione’s hair frizzy, although she’s sure she has in the past, to her shame. Her curls are beautiful, not tight, not loose, just natural and flyaway and a little springy. 

“I could always plait yours, though, if you like,” Hermione offers. 

“This is about you,” Lavender says firmly, and Hermione narrows her eyes at her. Parvati comes in from the adjoining bathroom in just a towel, damp from her shower, and Lavender loses track of everything for a moment, staring openly. 

Parvati catches her staring and rolls her eyes. “Lav.”

Lavender props her chin up on her hand and stares a little harder, until Parvati blushes and starts vigorously towelling her hair to avoid looking at her. She’s hard to fluster, but it _is_ possible.

“Don’t mind me,” Hermione says, amused. 

“No, don’t mind Lavender,” Parvati says, voice slightly muffled by the towel. “She’s _shameless_.” 

Lavender shrugs guiltlessly, and then she glances at the steam still rolling out of the bathroom, and she has an idea. 

“Hermione, have you showered today?”

“Lavender,” Parvati hisses, but Hermione doesn’t look offended, just bewildered.

“I was going to go after Parvati,” she says, and Lavender practically leaps off the bed and skips into the bathroom. 

“Stay right there,” she calls, in a song-song voice. “Parvati, come with me.”

The eighth-year bathrooms are nowhere near as fancy as the Prefect ones, which Lavender used to sneak into all the time to take advantage of their bubble bath selection, but they’re still pretty good. There are two showers along one wall and a large, round tub along the other, plus a row of sinks and mirrors. 

It takes quite a few minutes to set up the bath. First, she cleanses the room, and gives the bath a good scrub with her magic. She hands Parvati the supplies from under the sink, and Parvati’s face lights up as she realises what she’s got planned. She still looks a bit annoyed at having to work whilst still in a towel, but she gets her own back by splashing Lavender in the face with water several times. 

When everything’s ready, Lavender pops her head around the door and calls Hermione over. She slips smoothly off the bed and pads towards them, her shoulders slightly hunched, her hands twisting and wringing. 

“It’s nothing bad,” Lavender promises her. “I haven’t spent the past five minutes coaxing an acromantula to strike the minute you enter the room. Have a little faith, Granger.”

She winks and nudges Hermione into the bathroom, and feels her heart tighten a little at the soft ‘oh’ that Hermione lets out. 

The bath is hot, steam curling up in little wisps. There are pale blue bubbles filling the surface. Flickering pink candles litter the sides of the bath. A bowl of potpourri sits on the side, enchanted to fill the room with a sweet, flowery scent. 

“You don’t have to have it,” Parvati says gently, with an easy smile. “I think Lav just thought it would be a nice idea.”

“Oh no, it’s lovely,” Hermione says. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well, you better get used to it,” Parvati warns her. “We like taking care of people.”

“We like taking care of you.”

Hermione turns to look at her, her eyebrows quirked in question.

“You’ve been so tense recently,” Lavender says, shrugging. “Baths always help me unwind. There are different oils in this one, and I developed some of them myself, so they should help you relax.”

“You developed some?” Hermione’s mouth drops open.

“You don’t have to look quite so shocked,” Lavender teases. “Divination isn’t the only thing I’m good at.”

Hermione snaps her mouth shut. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“She knows, love,” Parvati says. “She’s just teasing.”

Then she shoves Hermione gently towards the bath and drags Lavender out by the elbow. 

“Enjoy your bath,” Lavender calls. “Let us know if you need help washing anything!”

There’s a scandalised noise from the bathroom, and Parvati swats her on the shoulder. 

“I meant her hair,” Lavender protests, but the cheeky grin stays present on her face for the rest of the evening. 

*

The day Lavender finds Hermione wearing soft, cotton trousers is a day that surprises her. She’s familiar with Muggle fashion, despite being a Pureblood. She likes the skirts and dresses they wear, the pretty, floaty material, the sense of expression that just doesn’t come through with robes. But she’s never seen these before. 

“What on earth are you wearing?”

She plucks at the fabric around Hermione’s thigh, feeling the softness of it between her fingers. Hermione’s lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard, a novel clasped between her hands. Nothing out of the ordinary, but the trousers are new.

“They’re called joggers,” Hermione says, glancing down at herself with a frown. “I forget that some witches and wizards are so far removed from Muggle culture.”

The joggers, as Hermione calls them, are baby pink, contrasting nicely with her dark skin. They have a drawstring at the top, but they aren’t cinched in, and they look relaxing and gentle and comfortable. 

“I _need_ some,” Lavender declares, still running her fingers over Hermione’s thigh. She doesn’t quite notice the blush to Hermione’s cheeks, but Parvati does, when she comes in behind her and hooks her chin over Lavender’s shoulder. 

“You may want to take your hand away before Hermione combusts,” Parvati observes. Lavender starts in surprise, withdrawing her hand, and Hermione promptly buries her face in her book again. 

“Oh,” Lavender says. “ _Oh_.”

She shares a glance with Parvati, who shakes her head. Later, then. 

“Have you eaten yet?” Parvati asks, leaning over to tap Hermione’s book. Hermione visibly startles, before apparently thinking it over. 

“If you have to take that long to think about it, then the answer’s probably no,” Lavender says. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

She winks at Parvati as she sits down on Hermione’s bed, and Parvati rolls her eyes fondly, leaning up to give her a quick kiss. It never fails to make her heart flutter, and today is no exception. She hums happily as she makes her way down into the common room, where Ron and Harry are sat by the fire, laughing quietly about something. 

She makes a little detour, stopping in front of them and tapping her foot until they both look up. Harry’s on his feet immediately. 

“Is everything alright? Hermione?”

Lavender’s a little taken aback, but she doesn’t let it show. “She’s fine. Sorry, I didn’t think. Nothing’s wrong, she just hasn’t eaten today.”

Harry sighs, and from the look he and Ron share, this obviously isn’t unusual. Lavender purses her lips unhappily, but doesn’t comment. 

“Too busy studying, I expect,” Harry says, rubbing his nose underneath his glasses. “Finger foods are probably best, something she can snack on. There’s an exam coming up, isn’t there? So she’s probably jittery, and small food’s easier to settle her stomach.”

Lavender stares for a beat. She’s not sure why she’s surprised that they actually know this stuff, given that they’ve been friends with Hermione for so long, but she is.

“You can always try feeding it to her, that works too,” Ron adds. Then his ears start to burn bright red, and he mutters, “Not that we’d know anything about that, obviously.”

Harry grins down at him, arching an eyebrow, and Lavender laughs brightly. 

“Don’t even try it, Weasley,” Lavender says. “Diviners know _everything_.”

Ron’s eyes widen, and he lets out a strangled sound that makes Harry laugh, but Lavender’s already turning away, heading to the kitchens. 

She gathers everything into a basket that the House Elves give her, and then makes her way back up to the Eighth Year tower. It’s strange, not taking the familiar twists and turns and passageways that will lead her to the Gryffindor Tower, but it’s not a bad strange. Lavender’s changed, and so has Hogwarts. It feels fitting, if a bit heart-breaking. 

Hermione and Parvati are wrapped up in a conversation about Magical Beast Rights when Lavender comes back, and she interrupts it by dropping the basket of food down in the middle of them and crawling onto the bed. She crosses her legs and starts unravelling little sandwiches, pots of chopped fruit, and sticks of vegetables. All simple, easy stuff. 

She pops a strawberry in her mouth, and then picks up another one, holding it out for Hermione, who watches her with wide eyes. 

“I’m not an infant,” Hermione says faintly. “I can feed myself.”

“You’re far too busy listening to Parvati talk about the Werewolf Registration Act,” Lavender says, and Parvati immediately launches into a talk that would do Binns proud. She waves the strawberry temptingly, and Hermione opens her mouth and lets Lavender feed her. Lavender keeps a close eye on her, just in case she looks uncomfortable, but she seems quite happy to let Lavender feed her carrot sticks and several wafer biscuits. Parvati takes some too during the discussion, and Lavender takes bites of a sandwich in between selecting the next thing for Hermione to eat, and by the time everything’s gone, Hermione looks full and happy, curled up with a pleased smile on her face. 

“I really do need some of these,” Lavender mutters, tugging on the hem of Hermione’s joggers. Hermione’s answering yawn is adorable, a tiny thing.

“I’ll get an order form,” Hermione says, sleep clinging to her voice. “We’ll pick some out that you might like.”

She’s asleep between one minute and the next. Parvati pops the last grape in her mouth and smiles, easing Hermione’s book out from underneath her arm. 

“Sounds perfect,” Lavender says softly. 

*

Lavender focuses on the softness of the joggers against her skin, rather than the careful hands at her neck. The touch is clinical, but that’s not unwelcome. Her top half is bare except for a crop top, and the joggers she picked out are a deep green. They remind her of the forest outside, the trees in her garden at home, the grass that her father lovingly mows every Sunday. It’s a strange thing to take comfort in, maybe, but it helps. 

“This ointment helps mainly with pain,” Hermione says. Her hands are slowly rubbing the paste into her scars, in soothing circles. Lavender can feel the pain start to lift, but she can also feel the graze of phantom claws, and it makes her breath catch. 

“Keep talking,” she says. Parvati shifts closer and takes her hand, lifts it briefly to kiss her wrist before squeezing it tightly. Even when they weren’t dating, they would hold hands, so the touch is familiar, welcome. She takes comfort in it. 

“I’m not sure about the properties, but I have a list, if you want me to find it,” Hermione says. “There’s also a Muggle treatment called Bio-oil that works really well for helping scars fade, but with the extent of these, I think you’re better off using the one Madame Pomfrey prescribed. Is there a reason you haven’t used it?”

“I don’t want to touch them,” Lavender utters. She thought she could do this, when Hermione caught her wincing a few moments before, and suggested that she could help, but now she isn’t so sure. 

“Breathe, love,” Parvati says. “Just breathe.”

She breathes. 

“Well, we can keep doing this, if you like,” Hermione says, shifting to apply more cream, a little lower. She smiles a little wryly. “You’ve taken such good care of me, I feel I should return the favour.”

Lavender gasps a laugh. “That’s not what it’s about, but I’ll take you up on the offer.”

“I’ll add the other oil in a minute, when this one stops tingling,” Hermione says, wiping her hands on the towel beside her. 

“How do you know so much about all of this?” Parvati asks, her brow furrowed. Lavender loves to rub her thumb over the crease above her nose, smooth it out, but right now she doesn’t feel quite up to moving. The tingle isn’t painful, exactly, but it makes her aware. 

Hermione stiffens for a second, and then she brushes aside her hair and pulls down the collar of her high-neck, to reveal a silvery scar, and what looks like a series of _bite_ marks. Lavender can’t quite hide her horror. 

“Bellatrix,” Hermione says succinctly, before they can inquire. She brushes her hair back in place. “We were captured, while we were on the run, during the war. I can’t say much, but I can say that having people around, to do the things you’re not ready to do – it can help sometimes.”

“Did Harry and Ron help?” Parvati asks. “With the potions and things?”

“Mrs Weasley, actually,” Hermione says. “I couldn’t do it myself, in the beginning, so I asked for help. There’s no shame in it. But if you’re not ready, there’s no shame in that, either.”

Lavender lowers her eyes, and then closes them tightly. “I think I’m ready for the next oil.”

This time, it’s Hermione that kisses her, and it isn’t on her wrist.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! Hope you enjoyed it <3


End file.
